


Assessment

by snarechan



Series: Gladnoct Week (2018) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Gladnoct Week, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma, gladnoct - Freeform, gladnoctweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 01:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: Sometimes ‘I love you’ are three little words, and sometimes it’s accepting the help you need so you can continue kicking the shit out of someone.





	Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> In response to [Gladnoct Week’s](https://gladnoctweek.tumblr.com/) prompt for **Day Four: Chronic Pain**. I think it’s inspiring that this prompt was not only introduced, but won the vote for this event! So my thanks to the submitter and everyone who contributed to it being on the list. 
> 
> I’ve written for a similar topic in another fandom, but I like to think I’ve improved a lot since then. Like, a _lot_. Over the years I’ve learned so much more about arthritis and joint pain from the community and, unfortunately, some of it from personal experience as my own condition has worsened. So in a way working on this fic was almost cathartic for me. 
> 
> Edited by Glyphenthusiast because, by some miracle, I managed to get this one done far enough in advance that they were capable of beta reading this for me. :Db

A flare of pain caught Noctis’ attention at school, then another on the steps of the Citadel before he’d arrived at the training room. The pain had centered around his knee, which had been acting up more than usual - but when nothing happened during the two hours of swordsmanship practice Noctis thought to blame it on the wet weather.

He’d forgotten all about it, up until Gladiolus signaled the end of their session by instructing him to turn in his defensive gear and practice weapon. He was in the process of following through when he stepped off the mat and onto the wooden floor, his leg just…not  _there_ anymore. He collapsed on his back, which was its own slew of hurt. Somehow he’d managed to land in such a way that his shoulder blade slammed into the wood, jarring him badly. He’d initially been more concerned with that outcome than his knee.

The multiple nurses, healers, and surgeons that came into his life might have removed the physical evidence of the daemon attack from his childhood, but Lunafreya’s mother had warned his eight-year-old self that the psychological effects might linger. Even now it took Noctis a moment to get himself under control after the incident jolted his memory.

Gladiolus’ shouts might have helped, too. “Noct! You need to  _breathe_ , dammit.”

Like a drowning man coming up for air, he sucked in a sharp gasp, then another. Gradually, he noticed the other man hovering over him. With Gladiolus present, it wasn’t as if anything threatening would have reached him.  _I’m okay_ , Noctis forced the reminder, _I’m not paralyzed anymore._

Gladiolus had refrained from moving him during the stint. He was probably worried that if he did, it’d worsen whatever injuries Noctis might have. Still, he was close enough that Noctis felt the body heat roiling off him.

“I’m fine,” he automatically said, although his slurring the phrase might explain why Gladiolus’ brows cinched tighter together, unconvinced. Noctis rolled his eyes and shoved him away with the length of his arm, wanting to sit up. The phantom pain in his back had receded, but further words of reassurance came out as a startled, “Ow.”

Noctis looked down at his knee. Although it was covered by his baggy pant leg and nothing outward seemed wrong with it, when he tried to move the joint  _really_ complained. He instinctively clamped his hands over it and said, much more sure this time, “Ow!  _Fuck_.”

“What is it?” Gladiolus demanded, already in the process of rolling up the fabric to inspect him. Stubbornly, Noctis kept his hands in place and prevented him from going further. He couldn’t withstand the glare he received, however, even as he turned away to be out of the direct line of Gladiolus’ stare. So with a scowl Noctis tugged the rest of the attire aside by himself.

There was a bit of swelling, but otherwise the joint looked normal. Vindicated, Noctis said, “Told you nothing's—  _Nngh!_ ”

Gladiolus started feeling around the crevices of his knee with his hands. He’d struck  _something_ during his searching. Although it was nothing more than dull aches every time, Noctis hadn’t expected the touch nor the resounding soreness.

“What the hell, Noct? If you’d sprained it or pulled a muscle, you should have told me,” Gladiolus reprimanded. He stopped his examination to whip out his smartphone from his back pocket. Before he could dial someone, Noctis covered his hand with his. He held no illusion that if Gladiolus wanted to carry out the action he could, but for Noctis he stopped.

“No doctors.” Noctis’ throat felt thick, turning his request into something that resembled a plea. He cleared his throat before adding, “No Ignis, either.”

At Gladiolus’ raised eyebrow, Noctis answered his silent question with a shrug. Glancing away again, he mumbled, “This isn’t a big deal. It’s only a problem every once and awhile.”

“Every once and awhile?” Gladiolus quoted, except his tone was much deeper and more menacing about it. Noctis glanced at him from under his bangs. The expression Gladiolus wore was inscrutable; it was unhappy, sure, but nothing like the angry or exasperated looks he’d witnessed in the past. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he simply didn’t react to him at all. To Noctis’ relief, at least Gladiolus loosened his white-knuckled grip on his phone and stashed it away.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the breakroom,” he said. Gladiolus effortlessly hauled him to his feet and looped Noctis’ arm around his waist since he was too tall for Noctis to reach his shoulders. Noctis clamped his hand on the other man’s belt loop for purchase as Gladiolus did the same around his.

“Thanks,” he said softly. Noctis  _was_ grateful – for his silence and for not carrying him bridal style or over his shoulder in public. A lot of things could have been done differently, but they weren’t.

He regretted saying so almost immediately.

“You can show your thanks by telling me about those ‘occasional’ instances and why none of this shit was reflected in your health records while I ice your knee.”

Noctis grimaced, but it wasn’t as if he could run away and avoid the conversation at present. He was led through the men’s locker room and into a side area where a kitchenette, vending machines, a television, and seating were kept for trainees to relax. Gladiolus deposited him on the sofa, helping him to prop his leg up on the cushion beside him.

Across the room, Gladiolus went to open the cupboards to retrieve some white hand towels and a first aid kit. Next, he accessed the freezer to remove some gel packs and the fridge portion below for some bottled drinks. He returned with the stockpile of items bundled in his arms, setting them up on the coffee table. With a frown Gladiolus instructed, “Start talking.”

“About what?” He didn’t try to be evasive –  _much_ – but Gladiolus wasn’t any more forthcoming than he was. There were a million things he could be asking for, and Noctis wasn’t in the mood to discuss more than he had to.

Even if he kind of felt like he owed it to him.

“How long has your knee been acting up?” Gladiolus asked. He began by opening the first aid kit and retrieving some kind of spray can, shaking it vigorously.

“This morning, I guess.” Noctis hissed and flinched as Gladiolus applied a thin, icy layer of stuff on him. He had a firm hold on Noctis’ ankle, which prevented him from curling away from the treatment.

“I  _meant_ ,” Gladiolus enunciated clearly, “the first time.”

“ _Okay_ ,” he bit back, watching the other man much closer now. Gladiolus only began wrapping his knee in a couple passes of ace bandaging, though. It was supportive, but not tight enough to agitate the inflammation. Observing the treatment gave Noctis a moment to think, an option he found he needed as…he couldn’t exactly recall the worsening of his condition.

He figured it’d been a gradual process since there was no singular instance that stood out to him. A minor slipup here or a random jolt there as he went through life, learning to deal with the inconveniences as they came. Licking his lip in thought, he admitted, “Around…sixteen, maybe? I got that server gig at the cafe. I blamed my work shoes or having to walk on the tile floor for hours, but…”

He’d never been that active outside his training. Growing up, Noctis was excused from most everything else: gym classes, extracurriculars, playing around with friends, that sort of stuff. His father might be the king, but even his influence couldn’t permit his son to join contact sports. The school board and the Citadel staff were adamant that the heir to the throne not be injured – or risk tarnishing the royal image, he supposed.

Besides which, most of the other students or club members were either too busy admiring him, thus reluctant to take him seriously, or hating on him, which would have resulted in the  _opposite_ problem. Nobody wanted nor knew how to deal with him, so Noctis figured it was just as well that he didn’t participate. Prompto had been understanding at the time, not keen to join anything competitive and his morning runs took place during Noctis' primary sleeping periods.

His father had been the driving force to get him out more. The loophole involving his part-time job eventually gave Noctis the foresight that there  _might_ be a problem. His discomfort in class whenever he sat stationary for too long could be explained away, but he’d only been scheduled a handful of work hours a week. The minor amount of effort he expelled didn’t correlate with the strain it caused.

He never reported the observation to anyone because he learned how to deal with all of it. He’d been doing it for so long that he figured it was 'normal’ to feel some sort of pain. Sometimes the ache was so slight he didn’t even acknowledge it.

Perhaps he worried that people might treat him differently. His immediate reaction to not inform Ignis of his earlier mishap would be a part of that. His advisor didn’t do  _anything_ by halves. Whether well-intentioned or not, he was liable to blow it out of proportion. His friendship with Prompto was new, also. He didn’t want Prompto thinking less of him or avoiding him out of fear of making him feel worse.

Or, what if Gladiolus went easy on him? He didn’t treat Noctis like glass, to be either cherished as if breaking, or to  _be_ broken. If Gladiolus started handling him with kid gloves during their sessions or requested they stop entirely, he’d throw up, he just  _knew it_ —

“But what?” Gladiolus’ question brought Noctis out of his head. He’d forgotten he was even present and putting the finishing touches on his knee. He’d wrapped the ice packs in the towels and placed them strategically around the joint, holding them in place to let the cold seep in.

He swallowed, then resumed his previous thought. “But it sometimes happened on my days off, ya know? It’s nothing I can’t handle, though.” Noctis wanted to make  _that_ really clear.

“Your father wears a brace,” Gladiolus brought up, the non sequitur causing Noctis to frown. He’d seen his father on the news, accompanied by a hand carved cane and metal device around his knee. They were elegant and expensive looking, meant to serve as showpieces like sophisticated jewelry, but Noctis wasn’t stupid. He recognized their significance concerning his father’s health.

The reminder stung, rather than offered him insight. He hadn’t seen his father for months, same as the populace of Insomnia, so it’d been a shock to witness him adorning the support. Despite the hurt, he hadn’t been able to confront his father about the fact he was only in his mid-forties and weathered like someone twice his age. Or the fact Noctis might be looking at  _his_ future, should this be hereditary. Of all the things they could share as a family, this wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

“Mm. Whatever.” Noctis didn’t give Gladiolus any kind of opening. He didn’t want to discuss his potential limitations. He’d had enough of that as a child, restricted to a wheelchair and surrounded by adults that looked down upon him. And, most certainly, he didn’t want to entertain the idea of lessening or stopping the time he spent with Gladiolus.

Not that it mattered what he wanted, he worried.

Gladiolus let up on his knee so he could reach for one of the water bottles and handed it to him with instructions to drink all of it. He grabbed his own container and sat back, one foot on the floor and the other propped up beside Noctis’ own as he sat against the opposite armrest. He stared Noctis dead in the eye as he said, “All right. Here’s how things are gonna go.”

Noctis tensed, but Gladiolus returned his earlier favor and didn’t let him interrupt. “I’m enforcing a two-day recuperation period right here at the Citadel,  _not_ at your apartment, starting  _tomorrow_. And I’m updating your training schedule for after, where you  _will_ have alternating days with mandatory breaks.”

 _What?_  he wordlessly conveyed, his facial expression contorting in confusion. Gladiolus kept going.

“Furthermore, I’m adjusting your warm-up regimen and you’re going to do each and every single exercise I tell you to do. We’re incorporating some new stretches so this bullshit doesn’t happen again.”

“What?” he finally said aloud, but he was continually ignored.

“And another thing: I’m talking to Ignis—” he motioned with a finger, silencing Noctis before he could butt in, “—about your godsdamn atrocious diet. If I say you need more fish oil and romaine lettuce, then you’re gonna fucking eat it  _and like it._ ”

“ _Gladio_ ,” Noctis said, voice raised, “ _what are you going on about?_ ”

“Did you forget I got a minor in physical therapy?” Gladiolus asked, taking a pull from his red sports drink. Sensing that Noctis still didn’t understand, he tipped the lip of the bottle in his direction. “Lookit, you’re not going to ignore this anymore. Not under my watch. What’s the point of preparing you to defend yourself in combat if I fuck you up before you even get there?”

“You’re not going to ask me to stop training?” he blurted. Noctis didn’t take the question back, though, his insides itching to know.

Gladiolus tilted his head. “Why? You can fight alright –  _when you’re inclined_.” He sent Noctis a scathing look, but he didn’t hold it for long. They were way past having that argument at this point. “We just have to do certain things a little differently and I’m more than qualified to help you switch things up. It’s not complicated.”

His throat felt constricted again, so all Noctis could do was nod. He took several sips from his water bottle to clear it, and finished the drink as he’d been told. Gladiolus nodded in satisfaction, though Noctis predicted this wasn’t the end of the matter. Nothing was ever  _this_ easy. The other man knocked him in the hip with his foot, signaling him before he got up to clean up his mess.

As soon as everything was back in its respective place, Gladiolus asked, “Think you can move it enough to get back to your suite?”

He allowed Noctis to swing his leg over the sofa, where he tested the range of motion. His knee felt stiff, but the worst of the pain had subsided. Noctis grunted in ascent and was the one to reach out to him; Gladiolus’ calloused hand was dry, but steadfast as he tugged him off the sofa. He didn’t voice his thanks again – not this time. The way Gladiolus let him walk under his own willpower, but lingered close by, was gratitude enough between them.  
**  
**  
  
  
**Bonus** :

“Yo!”

Gladiolus was sitting on one of the benches in the locker room, waiting for his arrival. Noctis hesitated at the door, but decided this was fine. He tended to come dressed in his sweats to avoid having to use this public place, too self-conscious and uncomfortable to change while it was in use. There was a locker for his stuff that he’d stash his belongings, but today he was running late and needed to change, too. At least Gladiolus had the common courtesy to meet him before.

At Noctis’ approach, he held out a small, brown paper bag by the matching handle. The red logo for Coleman was on the outside, which threw Noctis off kilter. He dropped his duffle bag on the ground and accepted the gift anyway, halfway in the process of asking what it was as he peeked inside.

“Your new battle equipment,” Gladiolus answered cryptically. Coupled with the smirk he wore, Noctis was definitely curious.

He discovered a soft knee brace. Noctis would have slammed it and the bag containing the support in Gladiolus’ nose, _super hard_ , if the pattern of it hadn’t caught his eye. Pulling it out to examine it better, the paper bag dropped listlessly to the floor to join his gym bag as he held it in both hands.

“The material should still breathe underneath your clothes. Not that there’s any shame in this,” Gladiolus said, pointedly looking at him. Noctis ignored the words, still not ready to have this talk. Thankfully, Gladiolus didn’t linger on the topic. “Iris thought it was kind of boring looking, though, so she begged me to let her modify it.”

That would explain the stitched chocobos on it. The animals resembled stick-figured versions of them. They were in various colors, from standard yellow to neon green, purple, or even bright red.

“I don’t expect you to wear it all the time. In fact, you shouldn’t – just during our training sessions or when you know you’ll be doing anything strenuous. I don’t want you to weaken anything by relying on it too much or become dependent on it.”

“Okay.”

Gladiolus had looked prepared for a fight, both hands planted on his thighs and leaning forward with the intent to debate the issue, but he came up short at Noctis’ ready agreement. He straightened in place, humming. “No fuss, no muss. Really?”

“Iris worked hard on it, right?” he conceded, holding it close to his chest as if deferring Gladiolus from stealing it away from him, despite him being the one to give it to Noctis in the first place. He wouldn’t admit it, but Noctis thought this one was cooler than any of the other bland, complicated, or opulent gear he’d seen. It felt intimate, with how much closer it was to his personal style.

That Gladiolus had gone out of his way for him might have swayed Noctis’ opinion a little, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that, either.

“Heh.” Gladiolus got to his feet and patted him on the shoulder, his hand lingering there afterwards. “All right, then suit up. I’ll see you out front for your stretches.”

Noctis grunted,  _not_ looking forward to the new practice. They weren’t fun or easy maneuvers, the other man having to manipulate or guide him through most of them. The series of leg and hip exercises Gladiolus had incorporated into his routine  _did_ help, though. There hadn’t been an incident with his knee since that day three weeks ago as proof of their aid, if nothing else.

Plus, with the added benefit of the knee brace, Noctis anticipated to being better prepared to kick Gladiolus’ ass in training today.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [writing blog on Tumblr](http://snaurus.tumblr.com/) for more content!


End file.
